Page 8 of Killer Notes

“Now that we have that out of the way.” Ron points to the singer. “Danny, wherever you go, he goes. Understand?”

The singer rolls his eyes and stalks off through a door, mumbling, “Whatever.”

The manager grunts out a huff. “I’m sorry, it’s been trying for him.”

“I bet,” I say, a little too quickly, and in a slightly condescending tone.

“What does that mean?” The drummer loses all his jovialness and bullets me with a nasty look.

Are he and the lead singer… No. I don’t remember seeing that in the report.

I eye the drummer, who flushes with indigence. Connor’s file details that he’s the jokester of the group. But apparently, he’s too sensitive where the singer’s feelings are concerned.

“I want to know what you mean by that, asshole.” Connor steps into my space, his eyes ablaze with anger.

Brushing off his jab, I remain cool. “No meaning. Just understanding the severity of what’s happened to him, the attack on his assistant and what those letters are doing to your friend—to all of you.”

What I said must appease him because he steps back from me, and the anger disappears from his face.

“Connor, head inside and warm up—and don’t go running off, if you know what I mean.” Ron gives him a pointed glare, and jabs a finger toward the doors. “All of you, head inside with Connor.”

Connor pitches a frown my way before striding out of the room, the rest of the band following.

“I’m sorry. You’ll have your hands full with that one,” Ron admits with a grimace.

“I can handle him,” John says evenly. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s up for the challenge.

“We’ll wait out here until they’re done. It’ll give us time to devise a run through for the updated schedule you gave us from now to the end of Rocktoberfest,” I convey, pulling my phone from my pants pocket.

“Yes—yes. If you need anything, I’ll be in there.” Ron heads to the doors, but stops. “By the way, if you want to dress down… you know, no suits, I’m fine with that. But only when we don’t have an appearance.” He then disappears behind the doors.

John clicks his tongue. Then a quiet whoosh of breath conveys one thing. Annoyance.

“I’m down with that,” I say, glancing at my partner.

“Let’s see the lay of the land and tomorrow we’ll decide what kind of plain clothes will work better for us,” John says, as his attention focuses on the iPad in his hand, already running over the logistics of the music festival.

John takes off his jacket and places it on the seat next to him and sits. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day. Might as well get comfortable.”

“Agreed.” I do the same, while looking at the festival schedule Ron sent. “The only thing that has changed is the interview with Rock Magazine, from three on Friday afternoon to noon.”

“I’m glad their place in the lineup to go on stage stayed at seven. Forty-five minutes on stage, equipment change, then the next band heads out. Pretty simple,” John say as he runs a finger down his screen.

“Simple,” I echo. “Nothing’s ever that simple. But we’ll see. Then all we need to know is the entry and exit points on stage,” I add, tapping out the notes for the change in time and exit strategy.

“Well?” John utters a few minutes later.

My head shoots up at his odd question. “Well, what?”

“Aren’t you glad you gave up a month-long getaway to the lake house for this?” John asks with a smirk.

“Harper said this case was important.”

“So you dropped everything for that bastard. Again.” John frowns.

“That bastard is our boss,” I counter. “And I’m not ready to go there yet.”

“I’m sorry about your grandfather. I know you two were close.”